


Leave Space for the Holy Spirit

by Lepak



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bratty Bottom Kim, But with a smooth recovery kinda, Dom/sub Play, Established Relationship, Finger Sucking, Hand Gagging, Holsters, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Play, Restraints, Sexual Mishaps, They're Both Switches Tho, dom!kim, ok look, service top harry, sub!Harry, they're doing what they can, they're middle-aged men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:27:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29023461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lepak/pseuds/Lepak
Summary: “Is this too tight?” Kim says, stroking Harry's forearms.He tries to pull them apart. There’s still some ease, but he can’t. “It’s good. You may have to untie me though.”“Of course.” Kim is already loosening the knot. “It’s fine if you’re not comfortable with restraints.”“What? No, it’s okay, really. I wanna try this." He looks over his shoulder. "But we forgot to take off my holster.”His partner goes quiet, fingers stilling over Harry’s wrists. He clears his throat. “I didn’t forget,” he says softly.---Harry and Kim experiment. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't.Spicy illustrations in chapter 2 by caramujo
Relationships: Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi
Comments: 23
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caramujo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramujo/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Leave Space for the Holy Spirit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29340303) by [Mouse_overlord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse_overlord/pseuds/Mouse_overlord)



> Big thanks to Moss and bobaheadshark for beta reading. And to caramujo for the being part of this artist-writer water cycle of horn.
> 
> Please assume this all happens after months of therapy and slow and careful relationship building.

Harry holds his hands behind his back. The tie loops around his crossed wrists, and Kim draws the knot snug. 

“Is this too tight?” Kim says, stroking Harry's forearms.

He tries to pull them apart. There’s still some ease, but he can’t. “It’s good. You may have to untie me though.”

“Of course.” Kim is already loosening the knot. “It’s fine if you’re not comfortable with restraints.”

“What? No, it’s okay, really. I wanna try this." He looks over his shoulder. "But we forgot to take off my holster.”

His partner goes quiet, fingers stilling over Harry’s wrists. He clears his throat. “I didn’t forget,” he says softly.

The rims of his ears turn pink, and Harry realises what he’s asking. “I can keep it on.”

Kim re-ties the knot. “If it starts chafing or hurting, or if your arms are going numb, please tell me. Don’t push through it.”

Harry nods. This isn’t the first time they’ve tried something new. Fucking in the Kineema was incredibly hot, but fucking at work was incredibly not. Licking cream off each other was messy and ultimately disappointing, and Harry roleplaying a perp who would do anything, _anything_ to avoid arrest just made Kim collapse into hysterical giggles, the limits of his composure definitively exposed. But this dynamic they’ve settled on is what they both like the most: Kim leading—often firmly—but always asking if Harry wants to follow, and Harry following because being asked means being able to give himself freely. Safe.

Kim drops a kiss to Harry’s shoulder, next to the loop of his holster. “You’re definitely okay?”

“Yep,” Harry says, smiling. “Let’s get to the kinky stuff.”

Kim laughs once, quiet and breathy, and he slaps Harry’s ass. “Bed,” he commands, tugging the leather straps.

The first thing Kim does after he’s pushed Harry back onto the pillows is gently lift out the Villiers 9mm and shut it in the nightstand. Then he kneels between Harry’s legs and kisses him, running gloves over his chest and unpicking his shirt buttons.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks, hands slipping over Harry’s ribs.

Harry shivers slightly. The leather is cool against his skin. “Let me move up. It’s kinda digging into my back.”

Kim draws back and Harry sits up, relieving the pressure on his tied wrists. Kim piles the pillows behind him, against the headboard, and Harry shifts up and flops down, settling into a half-seated position.

“Better?”

“Yeah. Come back?”

Kim kisses him again, and he undoes Harry’s belt and drops it clinking onto the floor. Harry lifts his hips for his trousers and boxers, and then he’s expecting Kim to put his hands on him again, to drag a glove down his belly and the trail of hair there, or to push his thighs open and work his hot tongue towards his hole.

But his partner does neither. Instead he sits back on his haunches—still fully clothed except for his bomber jacket, hanging on the back of the bedroom door—and studies him, lingering on the straps that brace his broad shoulders and frame his bare chest. Harry watches him looking. Kim’s expression is held at neutral as always, like he’s going over his notes or buffing a scratch off his Kineema, and the only thing that gives him away is the bulge in his trousers. If the size of it is any indication, he’s _very_ turned on.

Harry’s surprised by how the thought of that turns _him_ on. He splays his legs wider and lifts a knee, so that his partner can get a clearer view of his thickening cock.

One corner of Kim’s mouth curls. “Shameless,” he says, and squeezes a tit.

Harry grins. “You love it.”

“I do.” Kim runs a knuckle down his bristly chops. “I think I’ll fuck your mouth.”

Harry opens his mouth for the thumb pressing against his bottom lip. He sucks it, the leather smooth against his tongue, and he glances up. Kim’s watching him, expression cool, and he pulls his thumb out and kisses him. Hungrily. His hand travels down Harry’s chest, finds a nipple and brushes it, wet thumb circling the areola, and Harry shivers beneath the touch.

“Or maybe I’ll just fuck you,” Kim says, pinching the nipple. “What would you like?”

“Both,” Harry blurts, and he feels himself turning red.

Kim raises an eyebrow, seemingly charmed by this. “I’ll do my best,” he says, and his hand creeps lower and lower and then curls around Harry’s cock.

It doesn’t take long before Harry’s begging, _pleading_ for Kim to fuck him. Kim works his hand up and down his shaft, pumping at just the right tempo to keep him wanting more. He’s not getting more. It’s _exasperating._

“God, please,” Harry whines.

“Please what?” Kim says, watching how Harry bites his bottom lip.

“Anything, just—” His breath hitches as Kim speeds up fractionally. “Just fuck me, come on.”

“No.”

“I’ll do anything. Whatever you want.”

Kim leans in, his mouth scant centimeters from Harry’s. “Like what?”

“I’ll let you fuck me.”

“I’m already going to fuck you.”

“So you’re gonna?” Harry tries to buck up, but a glove grips his hip and keeps him in place. “You’re gonna fuck me?”

An eyebrow arches again. “How are you _still_ doing the can opener routine?” He fondles Harry’s balls, and Harry nearly thrusts himself off the bed.

Kim peels off a glove, then coaxes Harry onto his stomach and places a couple of pillows under his hips. He kisses Harry’s tailbone as he circles his hole with a lubed-up thumb, then slowly works a slick finger in. Harry clenches his fists, still tied behind his back, and he asks for another.

“Patience,” Kim says, pulling his finger out to the last knuckle and then pushing it back in. Harry groans, right cheek pressed against the mattress. It’s not enough but it will have to do.

Kim fucks him open, luxuriously and unbearably slow. He rolls up the back of Harry’s shirt, running a gloved hand over the expanse of flushed skin, then slides a second finger in, listening to Harry fracture into incoherent babbling when he rubs his prostate. When he inserts a third finger and stops thrusting, Harry nearly starts sobbing, and he pushes back against Kim’s hand, begging him to start again.

Kim grips the straps of his holster, telling him to stop. Harry does, panting. He stays still, thighs spread open, ass in the air, unable to lever himself up. His cock throbs between his legs. He waits for his partner to tell him what to do.

The order comes. “Fuck the pillow,” Kim says, low and even, shivering down Harry’s spine. Harry lowers his hips and starts thrusting wildly, but the straps around his shoulders tighten again, and Kim’s voice back is in his ear.

“Slow,” he says. “Let me watch you.”

Harry takes a shuddering breath and follows the instruction. His cock drags against the cotton fabric—too slow, not enough, never enough—but he feels Kim’s fingers move in his ass again and it’s almost a relief. Almost.

“Good boy,” Kim murmurs, and the praise goes straight to Harry’s cock. He looks back at Kim, over his shoulder, and gives him a shaky smile just as he thrusts against the pillow.

“Such a good boy,” Kim says, and this time there’s a tremble in his voice. He’s barely keeping himself under control. He still has all his clothes on. How does he still have his clothes on? But before Harry can ask him to maybe at least take his tank off, Kim twists his fingers and pleasure jolts through Harry’s body.

Kim leans over him, a stripe of heat against his back. Harry whines as the fingers in him twist again, and a glove covers his mouth.

“You’ve been wonderful. So patient.” Lips move against his ear. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Please,” Harry moans, muffled. “Please, oh please, oh please.”

Kim withdraws his fingers and Harry keens, feeling suddenly empty.

“Noisy,” Kim chuckles, and pinches Harry’s ass. “Stay.”

Harry does, face-down in the sheets. He hears the zip of a trouser fly, the wet slip of lube, and then he feels the mattress dip as Kim climbs back between his legs.

“Ready?”

“Uh huh.”

Harry actually sobs when Kim lines up his cock and finally enters him.

Kim stops. “Are you okay?” He sounds concerned.

“Ecstatic. Over the moon.” Harry looks up at his partner. “Please fuck me now or I _will_ die.”

Kim kisses him, swiping their tongues together. Then he pushes all the way in, and Harry closes his eyes and groans.

The glove is back over his mouth, muffling the obscene noises he’s making. “You’re going to wake the neighbours up,” Kim whispers as he thrusts into him. “Do you like me fucking you?”

Harry nods, because, holy shit, how did he ever live without this fullness, this feeling of Kim hard inside him, stretching him out?

"Harder," he whimpers against the glove.

Kim thrusts deeper and Harry cries out. A fingertip slips past his lips. He tastes salt and leather.

"Like that?"

Harry pushes himself back, asking Kim to do it again. His partner obliges, snapping his hips forward and sinking a second finger into Harry’s mouth, pressing against his tongue. Harry suckles on them. Tenses his lips, feeling them glide in and out.

“ _Good_ boy,” Kim murmurs, stroking his hair. There’s a smile in his voice. “I didn’t even need to tell you.” And he fucks Harry into the mattress, listening to him moan around his fingers.

They don’t last that much longer. Kim sets the pace, his free hand gripping the holster’s crosspiece and pulling Harry up and back onto his cock. Harry feels the rasp of Kim’s trousers at the back of his thighs—why has he _still_ not taken his clothes off? But that thought is drowned out by the heat building at the base of his spine, in his chest, everywhere, and another frantically takes its place.

He shakes off the hand covering his mouth. “Sh-shit,” he sputters, words tumbling out of him. “Pull my hair. Pull hair, Kim, please, pull, _fuck—_ ” and Kim cradles the back of his head, combs his fingers through, and _yanks._

Harry comes, whiting out. He feels Kim unravelling in him too, jerking their bodies forward, still gripping the holster, and then collapsing onto his back. They lie like that for a minute, sweaty, lungs heaving, until Kim sits back up and starts untying him.

“Kim?” Harry says, once he’s again capable of higher order thought.

Kim unwinds the tie from his wrists, then tugs the holster off him. “Hm?”

“Why’d you not take your pants off?”

“I was impatient.”

“Is it too late to take them off now?”

Kim peels off his sodden shirt, then straddles him and begins to massage his shoulders, working feeling back into his arms. “We need to wash all the bedding anyway, might as well throw our clothes in.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, muffled against the mattress, “everything got wrecked. Especially me. I’m very wrecked. The wreckedest.”

Kim rolls him onto his back. “Was it good?”

“Oh hell yes. Please wreck me again. Just not right now, I need to walk tomorrow.”

His partner smiles and kisses him sweetly. “I don’t have a round two in me.” He lets Harry undress him and wrap him in his arms, head cushioned against his chest.

Harry strokes his partner’s sides, tracing his lean muscles and the ridges of his ribs. “So, we’ll do this holster thing again?”

“Yes,” Kim says immediately, then pauses. “Khm. If you’d like to, of course.”

“I definitely would.” Harry says, grinning. “You should wear yours too. We could match.”

Kim looks up at him. “The only time we ever will,” he says, and kisses Harry’s chin.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry locks the door behind them. Kim’s already flung off his jacket, advancing with a look in his eyes like he’s going to eat him alive, and he shoves Harry against the wall, nearly jolting the framed pictures off their wires.

“You. Are a _tease_. I can’t work when you _insist_ on being a distraction.”

Harry grins. He knows he’s been. This is a game they’ve been playing for weeks, Harry trying to wriggle under his partner’s composure and Kim denying him the pleasure. “I’ve been behaving.”

“You have _not_.” Kim leans close, his voice a growl, low and dangerous as his Kineema. “The way you sprawled in your seat, unbuttoning your shirt—that was _obscene_.”

“It’s summer. It’s hot.”

“And how you kept grazing my thigh?”

“I was stretching my legs.”

“The _banana_?”

“High in fibre.”

“I was _driving_ ,” Kim hisses, “I nearly mounted the curb.” And he kisses Harry hard, shoving his tongue in his mouth. This is how the game has always ended, with Kim maintaining an iron grip on his control and Harry flat on his back or thrown over the bed or sofa, getting fucked within an inch of his life. Kim always wins, like how he always thrashes Harry at Suzerainty. But he enjoys it. They both do. And repeatedly losing hasn’t stopped Harry from trying again and again.

Kim grabs Harry’s hair and yanks his head back, breaking their kiss. He watches Harry whine, face impassive, and Harry waits for the order to strip and touch himself, or to get on his knees and open his mouth.

“Fuck me.”

Harry blinks. This is new. He has fucked Kim before, or rather he has been _allowed_ to fuck Kim before, but his partner has always dictated position and pace. “You want to ride me?”

Kim shakes his head. Loosens his grip on Harry’s hair and winds his arms around his neck instead. “Fuck me like how I fuck you,” he says, pressing their bodies together.

 _That_ makes Harry’s dick twitch. “Really?”

“Only if you’d want to.”

“Shit yes!” His face grows warm. “I mean—yeah. I want do to the fuck you. Uh,” and he kisses him so he doesn’t keep talking. His hands skim over Kim’s belt, caress his hips. His partner’s slightness always surprises him, because his clothes and posture and the absolute authority he radiates make him look larger than he actually is, but Harry could encircle him with one arm. Or lift him.

Kim places one of Harry's hands on the back of his head and squeezes, asking him to take control. Harry tightens his grip, watching Kim’s breath quicken and his throat bob. This is _definitely_ new. 

He bends over him. “I’m gonna fuck you.”

Kim meets his gaze, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “You’re not.”

Harry backs off, arms dropping to his sides.

“What?” Kim says, standing empty-handed by the door.

“Huh?”

“Did you want to stop?”

“I thought _you_ wanted to stop.”

"I didn't." Kim steps close and smooths the green lapels of Harry’s blazer. “But if I do, I’ll tell you.”

“So, you still want me to fuck you?”

Kim kisses him. “Mhm,” he says, drawing back, “but you’ll have to work for it.”

Something in the curve of his lips sends heat pooling in Harry’s gut. “I can only remember having sex with one person—that’s you—so you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“Use your powers of persuasion, detective.” Kim squeezes Harry’s biceps. “All of them.”

Harry realises he’s half-a-head taller and several weight classes heavier, and he could be using that to his advantage. He walks them back to the wall and pins Kim against it, hand on his chest and thumb pressing into the notch between his collarbones. His partner looks up at him calmly, but he’s betrayed by his pulse and a look in his dark eyes—one of anticipation and desire.

Harry leans in with his full weight, flattening Kim against the concrete, and he bends over him again.

“I’m gonna fuck you.”

“You’re _not_.”

“I am,” he breathes over Kim’s neck, grazing it with his teeth. “I’ll wipe that smirk off your face.”

Kim’s gaze darts to a corner of the room. “You can try.”

Harry rucks up his thin tank. Kim lets him, watching silently. Harry isn’t really sure what his partner wants, but as he tongues a pert nipple and rolls the other between his fingers, he can feel Kim harden against his thigh, so he figures he must be doing something right.

The leather holster loop catches his eye. Maybe he’ll take his cue from Kim. He grips it and steps back from the wall, dragging the other man with him.

Kim tenses and tries to pull away. “What—”

“I’m gonna fuck you in the mouth,” Harry says, yanking him to his knees.

“Stop.”

He immediately lets go and Kim falls back on his heels. He’s breathing hard, eyes squeezed shut, trying to winch himself back under control.

“Sorry,” Harry says, kneeling. Worried. “Was that too far?” He touches his shoulder.

Kim withdraws from him. “A moment. Please.”

Harry fetches a glass of water, then sets it on the floor when Kim waves it away. He kneels again, mentally kicking himself.

“I should’ve asked first,” he says.

Kim adjusts his glasses, eyes still fixed on the floorboards. “It’s fine,” he says slowly, “I didn’t know I didn’t like that. Or the holster tugging.”

“Sorry. I didn’t really know what to do. It won’t happen again.”

Kim glances up at him. “To tell you the truth…” he trails off and looks away. “I didn’t either. I thought I’d enjoy this more than I am.” He hugs himself; he's embarrassed.

Harry reaches for him. “We can call it here,” he says, brushing Kim’s knee. “Make dinner and listen to the Tournée. Maybe that prick Luis Quint will explode on the starting line.”

“With his turbo-charged, precision-engineered MC and the pit crew his Indotribe sponsor flew in from Sur-la-Clef?” Kim gives him a half-smile. “I hope he does. He deserves it.”

Harry smiles back and helps Kim to his feet. But as he moves to the radio, Kim loops his arms around his middle and pulls him into an embrace. Harry holds him. Rubs the soft, short hair at the back of his head, feeling him relax.

He loves him. He really, really, does. Even if he forgets everything, again, he’d remember. Some things are more permanent than memory.

“One more try?” Kim murmurs against his shoulder.

“Third time’s the charm.”

They kiss, swaying slightly in the middle of the room. A hand slips into Harry’s back pocket and squeezes. Harry grips Kim’s hair and tips his head back, pressing lips to the curve of his jaw and then the pulse point below it, beating warm beneath skin.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

“Yes.”

Harry kisses his neck again. “What did you like?”

“When you pinned me to the wall.”

Harry pushes him back against it, pressing a thigh between his legs. “Like this?”

A smile flutters at the corners of his partner’s mouth. “You can do better.”

He gathers Kim’s wrists and pins them above his head. “How’s that?”

“Better.” He tilts his mouth up. “Now kiss me.”

Harry leans in, closing the space between them, and at the last second he pulls away. “I give the orders around here.”

A familiar eyebrow quirks up, and Harry knows he’s said the right thing. “What makes you think I’ll follow them, _officer_?” Kim says.

“I have my ways.” He cups Kim’s crotch, listening to how he inhales sharply. “A whole toolbox of persuasive methods—an _arsenal_.” And he kisses him.

This time goes much better. Harry works him through his trousers, and Kim responds enthusiastically, straining against Harry’s hands, demanding more. Harry turns him to face the wall instead, undoes his belt and slips a hand beneath the elastic of his briefs, and then squeezes, feeling how Kim’s breath flutters in his chest.

“Gonna get stuff,” Harry says, and drops a kiss to his nape. “Wait here.”

He pads to the bedroom, retrieves the lube, then shrugs off his blazer and holster, leaving both draped over the mattress. When he heads back out, Kim is exactly where he’s left him—arms folded behind his back, forehead pressed against the paint, trousers slung low over the curve of his ass. It’s a good sight. 

Kim notices him watching. He arches his back. Teasing.

Harry grins. “Miss me?” he says, tugging Kim’s trousers down.

“I liked the quiet,” Kim says, breath hitching as Harry dips a slick finger between his cheeks and works the tip inside him.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“You’re a terrible tease.”

“I’m a considerate lover.” Harry withdraws his hand and squeezes more lube onto it. “Can’t rush prep.”

“This is payback, isn’t it?”

He grips Kim’s wrists, holding him still. “A man once told me I had to be _patient_ ,” Harry says, and sinks a finger in.

He takes his time, cataloguing every expression that flutters across his partner’s face. The crease between his brows deepens when Harry pushes too eagerly, but it smooths out when Harry eases off, and his lips part when Harry finds just the right angle. Kim is keeping himself under control, gasping softly when a second finger is worked into him. But as he closes his eyes and rocks his hips back, Harry can tell that he’s slowly being undone with every thrust and he wants to see him lose it.

He withdraws his hand. “One more?”

“I’m not begging.”

He strokes the rim of Kim’s hole, watching him shiver. “What if I want you to?”

The corners of Kim’s lips quirk up then, and Harry realises they’re still playing the game. 

“Then _make_ me.”

Harry pushes three fingers in, jolting a noise from Kim.

Gently, methodically, he takes him apart. First with his hands and then his tongue. Harry buries his face between Kim’s cheeks, licking up and down, and he reaches around and palms his partner through his briefs, damp with sweat and precum. Kim swears, and Harry grins and licks lower, nosing his way towards the thatch of hair between his legs.

He plants a kiss there. “What do you want?”

“I’ve already told you.”

He trails his mouth up Kim’s inner thighs, feeling him tremble. “Told me what?”

“You know what.”

“Oh no, Kim, I’ve lost all my memories again. You’ll have to tell me.”

“I’m not repeating myself.”

Harry shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says, and sucks a ball into his mouth.

Kim scrabbles against the wall, swearing louder. Harry swirls his tongue, then releases it with a _pop_ , and he stands and slides his fingers back into Kim, sending him shuddering. He’s close. Harry can tell. But he’s still keeping himself in control, not wanting to let go. Not yet.

He ruffles the sparse hair on Kim’s chest, thumbs a nipple and then pinches it, and he hears Kim swallow a whimper and take more of him in, hot and tight around his hand. Harry could fuck him now. Push him face-first to the floor, two steps from the front door and half-out of their clothes, rutting like animals, wild and desperate. But that’s not the game. Kim is withholding something, deliberately, and he wants Harry to take it from him. 

He slips his fingers out. Presses lips to the arc of Kim’s neck, right below his ear. “Take off your clothes.”

Kim does. Kicking off his boots and bending to shuck his trousers and briefs in one go. Harry follows suit, yanking his disco pants down his thighs, until they’re both naked and admiring each other, Kim running his hands over Harry’s chest.

“I see you’ve kept your socks on,” he says, as Harry pulls him close.

“You kept _your_ gloves on.”

Kim kisses him, cradling his face, and when they break apart he whispers into Harry’s ear, “All the better to gag you with.”

Harry swivels Kim around and shoves him back against the wall. Taps his cock against a pale cheek. “Do you want it?”

“Just do it already.”

He grinds against him. “That’s not what I want to hear.”

Kim growls in frustration and moves to start jerking himself off, but Harry intercepts and pins his hands above his head.

“Nope.”

“This is intolerable,” Kim breathes through his teeth.

“Say it.”

Kim squirms against him, wanting more contact. “It.”

Harry squeezes more lube onto his cock and tosses the bottle away. “I’ll finish myself, then,” he says, rubbing between Kim’s cheeks. He reaches around to cup him, then starts stroking. “Come on your back then leave you to sort yourself out.”

Kim presses his face into his arm. Harry rubs a thumb over the head of his cock, nips an ear lobe, and watches Kim bite his lips together, trying to keep himself from moaning.

“How ‘bout it?” Harry whispers, breath hot in Kim’s ear. He stops stroking and squeezes. “I don’t _need_ to fuck you.”

Kim mutters something, voice muffled.

“What was that?”

Kim raises his head, his ears burning bright red. “Please fuck me.”

“Please fuck me, _what_?”

“Please fuck me, yefreitor.”

“Say it again.”

“Please fuck me, yefreitor.”

Harry bends his knees. “One more time.”

“Please fuck m—” and he gasps as Harry pushes into him, all the way to the root.

Harry doesn’t move. Feels Kim panting beneath him instead, a flush creeping over his shoulders and upper back, pink and warm, and he curls an arm around him and strokes his soft belly. 

“Okay?”

Kim nods and cants his hips back. “Go.”

Harry kisses his cheek, thrusts once, and then pulls out.

“What the _fuck_.” Kim turns to glare at him, furious. “What are you—” and his eyes widen as Harry spins him around, hooks his hands beneath his thighs and lifts him. He clutches Harry’s shoulders as his back hits the wall, and a moan shudders through him as Harry guides his cock back home.

Harry adjusts his grip, watching how his partner’s mouth goes slack. “Still okay?”

Kim nods wordlessly, breathing ragged, clinging to him. “Please, yefreitor.”

Harry gives him what he wants, rocking up into his body. Kim crosses his ankles over Harry’s tailbone and hangs on, burying the noises he’s making at the back of his throat. His composure’s cracking. Harry chases it, feeling how good his partner feels around him, and he mentally recites the RCM's list of regulations, trying to keep himself from coming. 

He’s not going to last. But he has to. Because Kim—thighs tightening around Harry’s waist, hands fisted in his hair—has entrusted him with this: to take his control from him and make him come undone.

He kisses him, hard and sloppy, knocking his glasses askew. “Lemme see it.”

“See what?” Kim manages to gasp out.

“See you.” He rolls his hips, and Kim’s toes curl. “Let go.”

“Keep fucking me—” and he cries out as Harry hits his prostate. “There! Right there.” 

Harry pumps once. Twice. And on the third time Kim comes, Harry’s name spilling from his lips.

\---

Morning streams through the window. Harry sits by it, buttering toast, and he looks up and smiles as his partner joins him at the table. “Hello.”

“Good morning.” Kim places a pillow on his chair and gently lowers himself onto it. “Thank you,” he says, as Harry sets a mug of steaming coffee in front of him. “Could you pass me the milk, please?”

Harry heaves himself up and hobbles to the fridge, grimacing and holding his lower back. He sits back down with an _oof_ and hands the milk carton to Kim. “How’re you feeling?”

“Sore. You?”

“Same.”

“Your back?”

“And thighs and calves.”

Kim nods and stirs his coffee, leaning his elbows against the table and trying not to move too much. ”We’re two decades too old to fuck like how we did.”

“Boy did my body cash that cheque. Still.” He pushes a plate of buttered toast towards Kim. “It was pretty hot, right?”

“Best fuck I’ve had in years. But if we do that again, I’ll break something.”

“Me, probably. Let’s stick to beds? Or the sofa. Anything with back support.”

“Yes, please.” Kim sips his coffee then raises an eyebrow, a small smile peeking over the rim of his mug. “So the Kineema’s still in play, then?”

Harry remembers what they did in the driver’s basket. “Absolutely. One-hundred-percent yes. But not today.”

“Not today,” Kim agrees, shifting on the pillow and wincing. “Next week?”

Harry reaches across the table for his partner’s hand. “Next week.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic wouldn't exist without caramujo's amazing amazing art (posted here with permission)! Because they made them first and then I went absolutely feral. [Find them here!](https://caramujotan.tumblr.com/tagged/my-art) (And shower them with love.)
> 
> If you liked this toss me a *bone* hurr hurr.


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